run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
“I know, my love. And you are.” He murmurs softly into the soft space between them once they reach the inn. There would be set backs, as there were when the butcher had his exposure to the corvids, and it had been the first time he’d been in Danta’s vicinity and let it fully come unleashed since the day it returned and they realized that he couldn’t handle it. The shadows were only a part of it, however more comfortable Danta has gotten with it. The full expanse of the fiery wendigo was something else entirely.
As Danta sheds his clothes while the butcher draws up the fire and the curtains – he hums a note of agreement that’s cut off with one side of the curtain slamming closed. Used to Flora’s own spirits, he snorts a soft sound under his breath. “Apologies.” He says to whatever spirit has taken their room, turning back to glance back at Danta as he doesn’t interfere with that emerald curtain any longer.
Already he’s shedding his damp clothes, too, boots kicked off and ignored. His tail flits in a smooth sweeping motion as he draws his shadows completely and entirely back into himself, hearing the whisper as he approaches and the weight of the taller Ancient makes the bed creak when he kneels onto the bed. “I cannot imagine any place I would rather be.” He murmurs back with complete and utter confidence, drawing the dark blankets back – silken and smooth and absent of their furs aside from one that looks like a wolf pelt.
Reaching for Danta, he draws him in against his chest, curling around him and holding him close to inject what heat he can, tugging the blankets up and over them to essentially craft a little makeshift fort of blankets for them to ignore the rest of the world outside, even the light pattering of the rain that hits the windows over the crackle of the hearth. "How is this?" He asks softly into the Maverick's crown of gold.
As Danta sheds his clothes while the butcher draws up the fire and the curtains – he hums a note of agreement that’s cut off with one side of the curtain slamming closed. Used to Flora’s own spirits, he snorts a soft sound under his breath. “Apologies.” He says to whatever spirit has taken their room, turning back to glance back at Danta as he doesn’t interfere with that emerald curtain any longer.
Already he’s shedding his damp clothes, too, boots kicked off and ignored. His tail flits in a smooth sweeping motion as he draws his shadows completely and entirely back into himself, hearing the whisper as he approaches and the weight of the taller Ancient makes the bed creak when he kneels onto the bed. “I cannot imagine any place I would rather be.” He murmurs back with complete and utter confidence, drawing the dark blankets back – silken and smooth and absent of their furs aside from one that looks like a wolf pelt.
Reaching for Danta, he draws him in against his chest, curling around him and holding him close to inject what heat he can, tugging the blankets up and over them to essentially craft a little makeshift fort of blankets for them to ignore the rest of the world outside, even the light pattering of the rain that hits the windows over the crackle of the hearth. "How is this?" He asks softly into the Maverick's crown of gold.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
